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Foley glanced at the credit-card receipts, then up at Tyler, then back at the receipts. He picked up one, then another, and another. His mouth went white around the edges.
“They represent forty-eight hundred dollars in cash advances added to your wife’s gaming card,” Tyler said softly.
Cheryl grabbed them. “What the hell? These are none of your business!”
Tyler leaned back. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Foley. You see, I’m wondering how the vice president of a small bank branch can afford such extravagance.”
Foley’s breath came in rapid puffs. “Who the hell are you?”
“Gee, I thought you’d never ask. Stormy, sweetheart, introduce yourself to these nice people.”
“My name is Stormy Maxwell.”
Foley thrust his head forward. “So?”
Stormy licked her lips. “Mr. Foley, you testified against me in court. You said I stole, or rather, that I helped steal one hundred and two thousand dollars from the Beach Coast Savings and Loan.”
“What?”
“And I’m Tyler Mangus,” Tyler said. “I’m an asset-recovery agent working for the company that insured Beach Coast. A funny thing happened when I started tracking that money, Mr. Foley. I discovered that most of it never left the bank. At least, not with Hadley Wilson and Ms. Maxwell here.”
Cheryl’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
Foley turned on her. “Shut up.”
“That’s not a nice way to talk to your wife,” Tyler cautioned, his voice like tempered steel. He gazed at Cheryl. “You know how he works the scam, don’t you? Gambling is a terrible disease. It eats at you. You gotta do it.”
Cheryl started to cry.
Stormy sat rigid, unable to breathe.
Tyler leaned forward, the cords of his neck taut. “Ms. Maxwell spent eleven months in prison on your testimony, Foley. She was separated from her little girl all those long months. You’ve met Liane. She’s been playing with your son Jason. Ms. Maxwell told the truth when she said she knew nothing of the robbery. She never saw that money. But, of course, no jury believed her. After all, how can you hide over a hundred thousand dollars?”
“Oh, God, Henry!” Cheryl cried. “You told me nobody would get hurt.”
“She was there!” Foley growled. “I saw her drive away with Wilson. She’s a criminal.”
“Ms. Maxwell thought Hadley Wilson went into the bank to get a cash advance on his credit card—just like Mrs. Foley has done so often over these past few days.”
“It’s my fault… All my fault,” Cheryl sobbed.
Foley raised his hand as if to strike her.
Tyler grabbed his arm. “Tut-tut, none of that.”
Foley yanked his arm from Tyler’s grasp. “You can’t prove a damned thing,” he said, flinging the words recklessly at Tyler.
Tyler leaned back, crossed his legs, and tented his fingers. “You know, I think I can. After you stowed all that cash in that night deposit chute, you failed to collect it all. I guess you were in a hurry. You left several twenties Beach Coast could never account for. All the night deposits added up, and no one claimed the overage.”
Foley looked at his wife, sobbing softly at his side, then beyond her out the windows. The moon was slanting across a calm sea. Before Stormy’s very eyes, the man appeared to shrink as if something had died inside him.
“I’m glad it’s over,” he said. Then he stood up and looked sadly at his wife. Then he shook his head as if all his pleas had been used up.
They watched him until he turned the corner to the stairwell. Stormy felt not the remotest sense of satisfaction.
Cheryl’s head drooped dejectedly.
Tyler took Stormy’s hand and squeezed it. “You okay?”
